The Breaking
by RustyPaperclip
Summary: After everything that has happened, to have the pirate in the same mansion reminds him of every single way he lets himself be broken. And Sparrow finds out he is more broken than he realises. Eventual Sparrow/Reaver somewhat. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Note: I don't own the awesomeness that is Fable, or any of the characters…or anything related. This is rated M because of smut…or something smut-ish cause I don't have any idea how to write smut and this is my first time (ha!) writing it. This has slash… and lots of it. I apologise for lots of OOC –ness too. Enjoy! I hope you do. And thanks for reading._

**The Breaking**

Sparrow awoke in the mansion, his throat parched and his body sore. Alone again. There was an empty bottle of wine lodged in his left hand; its contents had spilled into the similarly crimson sheets he was lying down on. In his right hand was the Red Dragon, heavy in his palm. He briefly wondered why he was holding it, when it should be tucked neatly into his holster as it did every night. Not that it mattered. When he checked the pistol, it was still fully loaded. He hadn't fired any shot in the drunken night.

With as much grace as he could muster, he slipped out of the rumpled sheets and padded to the wardrobe for a change of clothes. Nothing caught his eye. As he took a whiff of himself, he realised he should take a bath. He took off his clothes. He preferred to walk around naked anyway. It WAS his mansion. Who would want to look at him? He was a wasted piece of flesh now he had mended everything he could possibly mend in Albion. If they so desperately wanted to look at him, they could always observe the many statues made of him. He pulled on a robe of sorts then tucked the pistol carelessly into the knot he tied around his waist. Now dressed, he walked out of the room, suppressing a yawn.

What a lonely morning.

As every morning was.

When he walked past the giant mirror in the hallway, he glanced at himself. His pale complexion would rival that of a hollow man's. His red eyes rivalled the décor of the mansion. His lightning blue Will lines rivalled … lightning. This was the result of not resting and eating well. There was only so much energy a stick of celery everyday would provide. He simply did not have the appetite these days.

In honest truth, Sparrow was just exhausted from his life. He fingered the thick leather collar around his neck. It used to belong to Sable, his faithful dog. May ye rest in peace, mutt. A kind of sharp and stinging pain shot through his heart at the memories of his best friend. There was no one else to share anything with now. Not that there was anything to share in the first place. Rose, I miss you, dear sister.

A bang on the door jolted him from his thoughts. It could be his butler, Alex. But Alex rarely caused loud noises; the man preferred to slink quietly as he followed Sparrow around. A gunshot rippled through the mansion; a chunk of wood bounced off the floor when it was shot through the door. Sparrow felt a prickle of dread at the back of his neck as he gritted his teeth in the face of impending doom. What a time to be underdressed. He pulled the dragon out of the knot, already sneaking down the stairs and aiming at the door. He could hear voices now and he found that he recognised the frilly undertones of that voice. Another bang made the door burst wide open. A flourish of red and black entered the house.

"Ah, my dear Sparrow. I've come to make good of my promise to you," Reaver flashed his silkiest grin at Sparrow, brandishing his Dragonstomper. Sparrow felt like lightning shot through his body.

It would be insane to loosen the grip he had on the pistol, even if to put on some modesty. Knowing Reaver, and Sparrow did know Reaver, the expanse of bare skin would actually serve him well to distract the pirate. Reaver strutted around his old mansion like he still owned it, touching the luxurious reddish tapestries. "I love what you did to the place," Reaver said, his voice echoing in the empty hallways almost seductively. Sparrow did nothing to the place except maintain it and spill red wine on his sheets. Somehow, the mansion gave in to Reaver; Sparrow felt a tremble of anticipation in its wooden panels in response to the deep voice. Nothing could resist the charming pirate. Nothing. Sparrow shuddered.

Alex was torn between serving his new master, and the old one. Sparrow did not really care who he chose to obey. As long as Reaver did not point the .48 on him, he could move in and have a ball for all he cared.

He eyed Reaver under the curtain of his dark hair and saw the glint of dangerous temptation in his eyes as the pirate stared down on him. He recognised the feral look aimed at him, remembered it like it was just yesterday that…

An involuntary shiver went through Sparrow's frame at the memory and he gritted his teeth. He stood up from the chair he was sitting on and shifted away from the imposing figure clad in red. Being this close to the man grated on his skin. A strong and fast grip on the robe pulled him back and exposed a bare shoulder.

Immediately, Sparrow turned, cocked his pistol and forced it underneath Reaver's cheekbone. He felt Reaver's own pistol jammed somewhere against his exposed ribs. The feel of cool metal on his skin surprised him but he did not let the emotion show on his face. A dark chuckle made its way to his ears and the sight of Reaver's arrogant smile made a gurgling of emotions bubble in his stomach. It felt like anticipation mixed with disgust. The pirate was not even bothered by the weapon on his face; merely observed Sparrow with a small smirk. Sparrow saw the way the grey eyes travelled over the revealed skin in a heated gaze. Slow circular motions against his ribs discomfited him when he realised Reaver was using his gun to trace the said circles. Sparrow snarled at him.

"Still not speaking I see," Reaver commented with his seductive smirk. Sparrow growled low in his throat, the sound making Reaver chuckle again. After a few moments of not moving, Reaver made a show of pulling back his pistol. Sparrow reluctantly slid his dragon off the cheek, knowing that there would be an indentation on his own ribs where the barrel had pressed into the skin. Alex explained that the pirate intended to stay for a while, stuttering a little. Sparrow nodded, not liking the idea at all. Reaver widened his grin, adjusting his hair with a gloved hand.

"Come now. I haven't killed you yet. We should at least bond a little before I fulfil that promise of mine…" Reaver's voice trailed off. Sparrow just noted the way Reaver's eyes sparkled when he said the word 'bond'. In a flurry of emotions, Sparrow walked purposefully to his room to throw on some clothes.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Breaking  
Chapter 2**

The spire stained everyone. There was no one who had not been affected by the monstrosity in any way.

Sparrow struggled to think about something else but he had let himself think about the tragedy and… it would haunt him for the rest of the day. Like it did everyday.

He missed Sable immensely. He missed Rose immensely. But for the … *greater* good, he chose to save everyone else; he saved every innocent life lost to the spire. A tremor of self-loathing rippled through his frame as he closed his eyes, trying to push his anger away. Yes he made the choice but he loathed himself for denying himself his loved ones. He coughed instead, trying to get the bitter temptation of revenge off his tongue. What he really wanted to do was bring Lucien back to life to give him a more befitting death, one prolonged by slow torture. The damned man took his family away and he had an easy death. Unjustified punishment. It was thoughts like this that tainted his mind and heart resulting in the bloodshot eyes and pale skin. Hammer had once advised him not to give in to bloodlust. But bloodlust was what gave him release.

Sparrow hissed, jumping out of the tub in shock. The broken glass pierced smoothly into his palm and he dropped the crushed shards on the floor. Another wineglass shattered from gripping too hard. He cussed at the pain, the rivulets of dark red blood dripping onto the floor. The crimson swirled into the puddle of bathwater forming around his feet. It swirled like the thick fog had swirled at the top of the spire. Sparrow picked up a washcloth and bound his wounded hand in it. Now that he had spoiled his bath, and his drink, he decided to just get on with the business of the day. Sighing, he tied the robe around himself, letting it soak up the bathwater before moving on to his bedroom where Alex usually laid out his clothes for him.

Reaver sat on his bed, looking a picture of luxury as he fingered the deep red wine stain on the sheets. Sparrow growled at the intrusion. His pistol lay on the desk beside the bed.

"You don't look a day older, Hero. Then again, I don't look ANY older," Reaver said, taking in the sight of a damp and dishevelled Sparrow. Sparrow tightened the knot on the sash and moved to the desk to tend to his wounds. He picked up his pistol as well. "I thought we were past this nonsense." Reaver grinned. Sparrow briefly wondered how he could continue speaking even without eliciting any response from him. He reminded himself that Reaver just loved the sound of his own voice. "Tell me, Sparrow. What was the last word you said to anyone?" Sparrow gave him a sidelong glance, picking out the last of the broken glass from his hand. "Was it when you requested Alex to give you backrubs? I assure you, that man has magic fingers." Sparrow snorted. The washcloth was discarded onto the floor, bloodied and soaked. He then sauntered to the medicine cabinet beside the door to the bath. As he took a tiny sip of the potion he wanted, he could hear Reaver shifting around on the bed – his bed. "Or was it when you said goodbye to Hammer? Oh. No, no. You did not bid your farewells to anyone." Sparrow glared at him. Reaver smirked in return. Sparrow noted that the .48 was not anywhere on him; in fact, the holster was absent as well. Of course it might mean that Reaver preferred to have a good scrap instead.

Trusting his instincts that Reaver was merely in his room to… distract, he turned away from the man and untied the sash so that the robe hung loosely around his naked frame. He sat on the edge of his bed, shivering because it was cold, really. The fabric of his pants offered a little comfort as he pulled them on. Then in a split second, he stilled.

"I think I know what you said last, my dear Sparrow," a deep, dark, sinful voice breathed into his ear. Sparrow shivered. "What I mean is… I KNOW what you said." Skilful hands tugged the robe off his shoulders, caressing scars from old battles. "Would you like me to refresh your memory?" Sparrow felt a surge of heat travel up his spine at the closeness. "You were calling out my name. In pleasure."

Sparrow found himself snarling, back pressed against the wall, a steady hand aiming his pistol at Reaver. His heartbeats pounded violently against his ribs. Already, a flush had washed over his skin, the remaining heat from ghost touches fluttering on his flesh. Sparrow swallowed. His throat was dry. The other man just smiled at him…almost endearingly as he resumed a kneeling position on the bed.

"I took the liberty of emptying your weapon," he informed as he calmly placed the bullets onto his sheets. Sparrow cursed inwardly at his own stupidity. With flamboyant grace, Reaver reached out and pushed the weapon down, fingers brushing his. Sparrow turned his face away. "So beautiful when you blush," Reaver hissed the familiar words. Sparrow winced. When Sparrow heard the thud of his door closing, he let out the breath he had been holding. Slowly, he sat down on the floor and covered his face, recalling the events of that particular night, shuddering in both want and disgust. The bitter thoughts he had in the bath returned and he wanted nothing more than to cause destruction. Those memories combined left him shaking for a much needed release of pent-up frustration. After many moments spent trying to contain a passionate outburst, Sparrow lifted his face off his hands.

There was blood on his left palm from the still unhealed cuts.

There was blood on his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Breaking  
Chapter 3**

Alex pitied him. He knew. The stoic man stood by his side during the meeting with these merchants and town developers. They told him their ideas and their plans to improve Bloodstone. All he was thinking about was that he wanted to kill something. Ripping apart hollow men would satisfy him enough. He imagined their limbs flying from well-aimed shots at the joints; these joints were simple to catch because hollow men were essentially a bag of bones. Then the final blow would be from his Daichi as their heads tumbled down onto the dirt road. Sparrow shuddered.

"Is it cold, sir? Should I close the windows?" Alex's soothing voice reached his ears. Sparrow shook his head in reply, giving his butler a reassuring smile. He gestured for the merchant to stop talking and pulled the contracts to himself. Sparrow read the terms as best as he could then dismissed the men. As soon as they left, he signed some of the contracts and piled them onto the desk. Alex was still standing by him.

Yes. It was cold.

It had been cold for a very long time.

Developing Bloodstone. When Sparrow bought the mansion, he might have wanted to develop the town, like Barnum had done with Westcliff. Brothels and bars littered the streets; they could be something else, something better. Now, after everything that had happened, he felt that Bloodstone was Bloodstone because of its corruption. And in its corruption, it was quite beautiful. They, the town developers, told him the state of living was better. They had closed down two brothels; one building was turned into a school. He had seen the construction through the windows.

A crash echoed through the house, followed by a 'Sorry sir!' He had to order the carpenter to fix the hole Reaver made in the door. The young lad was a little clumsy but skilful. He heard Reaver rush out of his room and in an instant, Sparrow felt impending danger. He initiated will to slow down time. He knew what was coming when he ran in front of the young carpenter. When he glanced up and saw Reaver aiming the .48 on the boy he was not surprised. He dragged the boy away from the door just as time decided to regulate again. Reaver's shot caught his sleeve instead, at the exact place where the carpenter's head had been. It blew off another chunk of wood from the door. Reaver cursed at him. Sparrow returned a glare. The carpenter beside him was confused as he cowered behind Sparrow. Alex took this opportunity to pull the boy away from the two glowering Heroes.

"You are determined not to let me have any fun," Reaver complained, the pistol still in his hands. Sparrow snorted, hands close together in preparation for any attack Reaver might pull. He noticed that his Will lines were glinting dangerously. There was a spark of lightning in the air between them, tense in anticipation of something that might happen. He would not put it past the pirate to pull any cheap tricks and shoot him. It was what he promised anyway. Reaver promised to kill him for buying his mansion. Sparrow watched Reaver descend the steps gracefully with his chin raised in defiance over everything, the perpetual sneer on his face. Sparrow gritted his teeth. "How inconvenient." Reaver grinned dangerously. "Alex tells me they have closed down two brothels. Now, why would you do that?" He had reached the foot of the stairs. "Or are you offering yourself?" Sparrow snarled. "How positively tricky, just like I recall…" his voice trailed off. "Because I would take you up on that offer, if you don't mind my-"

A spinning bullet brushed a few strands of Reaver's stray hair before shattering the vase just behind him in a deafening crash. The shards of glass dropped to the floor like tiny diamonds. Reaver stilled.

Sparrow shook with the effort of containing his bloodlust, the pistol tight in his grip. Reaver placed his own pistol back in its holster, before meeting Sparrow's intense gaze. The red eyes had darkened considerably.

"I see that your aim has gotten better, my dear," Reaver said instead, masking the surprise he felt.

"I missed," was the gruff reply.

Sparrow turned to go back into his study, a radius of electricity sparkling around his body. His throat felt raw, unaccustomed to the talking.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Breaking  
Chapter 4**

He knew the sounds of the house settling. He knew the sounds of Alex or the servants doing their work. He could easily pick out the sounds of Reaver sashaying about the building. He could easily locate where everyone was and Sparrow avoided Reaver at all costs. Since the pirate had arrived, he usually appeared whenever Sparrow expected his presence least. He turned up during meetings and once attempted to shoot one merchant who planned to close down the last brothel. He had also appeared when Sparrow was taking a bath. Fortunately, Alex had not left and he had the Red Dragon with him. Reaver merely sat on the chair then, chattering incessantly about his adventures in Samarkhand. Honestly, his presence was not unwelcome but it made Sparrow conscious of himself, constantly feeling grey eyes on his every move. Sparrow had taken to locking every door behind him obsessively just to get privacy. In some sick way, he almost felt grateful to have something else to think about besides the bloodlust. It was not better. Just different.

Being alone affected him much more than he would admit.

Sometimes, he thought he could hear Theresa's wispy voice in his head if he stayed still enough. Most of the time, he realised it was just the wind blowing through the house. Now, he raised his head up off the desk in his room, wondering if he heard Theresa calling him. It was a soft call, really. It did not even sound like his name, or any name, really. Then he realised it was the sound of soft footfalls behind him.

When he whirled around, Reaver was pointing the Dragonstomper at his chest, the most victorious smirk on his face. Sparrow cursed inwardly, ashamed at being trapped so easily.

Reaver gently pushed him against the desk with the barrel of the pistol. Sparrow snarled but leaned back, until he was sitting on the desk. The pistol was digging into his flesh.

"So…submissive," Reaver purred. Sparrow cringed. A palm made its way down his chest and he shuddered with the heat from the touch. He swallowed a gasp as he averted his eyes now, frantically chasing away memories of this touch in his mind.

Because he remembered. He could not forget it even if he tried to.

His body remembered too, shivering and quivering where skin met skin. As far as his body was concerned, it wanted this. Wanted this very much. The barrel of the pistol traced over the faded lines of the tattoo on his torso. The metal felt inexplicably warm on his skin, like it had been heated by fire. It felt like being branded. A sharp push from the pistol and Sparrow hissed at the action, making Reaver's hungry gaze focus on his face. Sparrow felt the metal somewhere at his navel, lazily making circles on his abdomen. Maddening. It tugged at him. Made him want more than just the metal. Wanting the soft pads of fingers instead. Wanting more. Sparrow struggled with this desire to just let himself be taken care of, to give in to this strangely maddening ritual. Fluid fire raked over his flesh when Reaver pressed long fingers on his chest. He twitched and a soft gasp left his lips. Heat spread over his cheeks at that admission of pleasure.

"Mmm, that sound…," the silky voice kissed his ears as the touches increased in pressure and roughness. A whimper Sparrow did not recognise as his own left his lips. "Don't deny yourself, love." The whisper brushed his jaw and Sparrow froze at the closeness, a tremble passing through his body. Soft, needy kisses made a journey up his neck while rough hands shoved the robe off his shoulders in a soft sigh. The cold air licked at his skin, contrasting the hot breaths on his parted lips. His hands hurt from gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white and shivering. "Has it been so long?" Sparrow shuddered when long fingers trailed over his veins that glittered blue in the darkness. "I quite like that you are so faithful to me," the man whispered harshly against his lips. Sparrow hissed. "I don't even have to tie you this time…" Sparrow grimaced at the lewd comment. Reaver only pressed his lips on his, stealing kisses like the king of thieves he was. He tasted… like alcohol. And women. And lies. Sparrow froze, turning away from his lips. It was then that Sparrow realised the pistol was no longer trained on him or his skin.

With a sudden burst of energy, he force pushed the pirate away, cold stinging him in an instant. He threw fire onto the logs; they burst into golden red flames that ate the wood viciously. Sparrow ignored the imprints of fingers on his flesh, the blistering heat between his thighs and the feel of lips on his skin. When he saw the pirate picking himself up, looking a picture of unchecked confusion, Sparrow felt suffocated. The voice that had so sweetly beckoned to him echoed darkly in his ears as he threw on a shirt, coat and a durable pair of boots. He felt betrayed by his own desires.

"Sparrow – " Reaver started, his voice hitching when Sparrow growled and swiftly placed the edge of the Daichi against his neck. Reaver swallowed the rest of his words. His eyes looked a little too bright then, lips swollen and red.

After frantically grabbing his weapons, Sparrow pushed past a dishevelled Reaver and left the mansion.

He headed for Wraithmarsh.


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: I have seemed to reach something of a dead end. I know how things go after this…I just don't know how to write it. So… next chapter will take a while… if anyone is following it at all. Oh. And this chapter…attempted smut. _

**The Breaking  
Chapter 5**

When Sparrow awoke, it was dark and he could not move. He found his wrists bound together with leather straps hanging from the ceiling. Other than that, he was stripped bare. Not a single thread on his body save for his boots. He struggled with the straps. Nothing loosened. He closed his eyes and initiated will. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing worked. For the first second since being trapped, he started to choke on panic. He tugged at the leather straps, loud snaps echoing in the dark room.

"Ah…Sparrow, trapped in a cage." Reaver entered the room wearing his robe, tied at the sash, but revealed his broad chest. Sparrow glared at him, but his body had gone rigid at being exposed in front of another man. Reaver returned a seductive smirk. "I paid a witch to help me with this cell. The leather was a good touch. No will user, like you, my dear Sparrow will be able to get out of here if the Master does not allow it. And, lo behold…" Reaver whipped his dark hair with a twisted smile. "I am the Master." Sparrow glowered at him. "No no. I know what you want with me. But let me tell you what the Master wants." Reaver slid a finger across Sparrow's strong jawline and cupped his cheek. Sparrow jerked his face away, giving him a dirty look. The trail of heat on his skin affected him strangely.

In one fluid movement, Reaver wrapped his long fingers around Sparrow's length. The sharp inhale of breath from Sparrow made him smile. Reaver squeezed brutally as he gave him a slow, tormenting, stroke. A low, ragged cry left the Hero's lips as his eyes widened in shock at the jolt of pleasure. His body was betraying him, reacting to the sinful touches of the pirate. The flesh trapped in Reaver's hand twitched. With a charming grin, Reaver pulled at the already hard muscle in slow, firm strokes. Sparrow shook with the effort of trying to get away, even though he knew it was futile. It was obvious that his body craved for this. Was almost even desperate for this. Sparrow's knees buckle as he squirmed to get away from the grip. Tight. Hot. And maddeningly slow. Red pleasure, like wine, coiled itself in his navel like tiny serpents twisting and writhing, biting at his resolve. He heard his breath hitch with every tug from experienced hands. Every stroke from base to head. Every swirl of the rough pad of a thumb over the head. Sparrow moaned, obscenely wanton. Very soon, he stopped trying to get away; the pleasure had broken him the way Reaver wanted it to break him. He was at the peak now, writhing and twisting and thrusting haphazardly, offering the pirate everything and receiving this with full neediness. Harder. Faster. But the agonisingly slow momentum still tortured him. He could feel his body throb and ache with the ministrations.

"So beautiful when you blush," he hissed and Sparrow whined in response, slack-jawed.

Sparrow was twitching, high from arousal as he eyed Reaver with a begging gaze. He was close …to something. Then the hands left him abruptly. A choked cry left his lips in protest before he could stop himself. He was panting. Weak and flopping around ungracefully. Reaver circled Sparrow, touching, admiring the body before him. The firm, sinewy muscles, the tendons on the neck, the patterns of scars; he suddenly felt ashamed that he was not more beautiful. As Reaver pressed himself to Sparrow's back, he wrenched the man's head back with a tug on the hair. Sparrow cried out then groaned when he felt lips latched onto the throat, biting at the plump flesh. Brutal. Vicious. His body throbbed in desperation for release. The pulse between his thighs rippled through his frame as he thrust the air, rolling his hips haphazardly while warm, wet, sucking kisses pinched at his neck.

"Virgin, then?" Reaver blew into the ear. A shiver was the answer. His hand found its way back to Sparrow's pulse and he wrapped his fingers around him, once more, already starting a rhythm with his vicious pumping. Choked cries echoed around the room as Sparrow jerked irregularly, closer to oblivion. Closer to abandon of every nature. He could not think. He could not breathe. His cries were hoarse. His breathing ragged. It was that grip on him. He felt like he might die should that hand leave him again. Teeth sank into his neck then and suddenly the white hot exploded. Sparrow threw his head back; a spurt of white fluid stained his quivering stomach, a long guttural moan filling the room. It was scorching hot. Red flames licked at his oblivion. He cried out many things in reckless abandon, screaming until his voice broke, until his body weakened, fatigued and slackened. Exhausted.

Oh, but Reaver would not let go, would not stop touching him. Reaver continued tugging, milking him till the last drop and continued even after that, without losing his rhythm. Sparrow whined at the touches on his skin. Sharp jolts of pain and pleasure shot through his groin at the rough manhandling of over sensitised skin. Deep, ragged breathing warmed his skin as Sparrow tried desperately to cool down. Choking. Sighing. Panting heavily. Twitching. It did not happen. When Reaver finally slowed down his strokes, Sparrow found that he was still hard, very painfully so. He was almost beginning to mewl again.

He was still in spasms when Reaver smiled into his skin, inhaling the deep smell of sex. He shuddered in anticipation, feeling the beginnings of stubble on his shoulder. Already, Reaver was rubbing himself against Sparrow like a dog in heat. The hard shaft against the cleft of his buttocks made him shiver in both want and disgust. Reaver circled Sparrow again, noting the glistening skin, the slack jaw and the hooded eyes. He roughly caressed the flat stomach, pulling forth small whimpers from swollen lips. Reaver grinned back, already untying the sash around his waist.

"Let's begin, shall we?" he said with a seductive smile in place. He let the robe hang open, as he stroked himself. Sparrow caught a glimpse of Reaver between the opened robe, noticing how ready the man was. He swallowed, wary… but curious. Reaver pushed Sparrow back, running kisses over his neck tenderly, his body responding by quivering against the flat planes of muscles. A low, needy whine escaped Sparrow's swollen lips then and Reaver smirked at the sound. This was going to be a very long night.

---

Sparrow awoke shivering in the aftermath of his memories. That happened on the first night he entered Bloodstone, after a long and exhausting journey through Wraithmarsh. It tore at him – both the journey and the …breaking.

Sparrow shuddered, feeling lingering touches dipping into his skin. At first they had been unwanted but as the night wore on, the touches felt like they belonged on him, forever imprinted on his flesh and he… had somehow belonged to the pirate. Unnatural attachment. Sparrow cried in anguish as he pushed open the door of the tomb. He had to be broken to be attached to him like that and more than a little broken to want to fall asleep in an empty tomb. White wisps floated over to meet him. Sparrow carefully slid out his Daichi, feeling a new kind of frustration added on to the after effects of his thoughts. He slashed through the nearest Hollow man, crashing through old bones. Satisfaction rippled down his spine.


	6. Chapter 6

_Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews. They are so encouraging. They made my day. You really know how to...push my buttons... Other than that, I'm sorry this took so long. Hope you enjoy this part!_

* * *

**The Breaking  
Chapter 6**

Sparrow only returned to Bloodstone three days later, feeling calmer but a little less sane. His supply of food and potions had dwindled. As he shuffled back to Bloodstone, townsfolk he passed seemed torn between wanting to help him or run away from him. Sparrow was too exhausted to smile or reassure them he was still alive. With his wounds, dried blood stains, sweat and new scars, he guessed that he looked even worse than the hollow men or banshees he had happily slaughtered the days before. His arms still tingled from the multiple kills. There was a pleasurable ache running through his body. A whore smiled invitingly at him. He quirked a smile but brushed her off. There were hushed comments that reached his ears then faded into a numbing silence in his head.

He thought he heard Theresa's voice call him but there was nothing in his mind. His own heartbeats echoed within his frame.

Within moments, he had reached the mansion. Alex opened the door for him, obviously expecting his return with more than a little worry. Sparrow felt a tinge of guilt for making his butler wait for him like that. He apologised as best as he could. Alex just shook his head at him as he entered the mansion, fatigue slowly grappling onto him with every step.

He felt grey eyes boring into his back but he ignored the sensation.

Upon entering the bathroom, he was grateful to see servants scrambling to set up a bath for him. He sighed in relief, watching swirls of vapour float above the warm water. Slowly, Sparrow stripped off his soiled and torn clothes, piling them onto the floor. The servants left him then. As soon as he lowered himself into the water, he groaned at the sheer pleasure of enveloping liquid warmth. The servants had dissolved some healing herbs into the bathwater and the medication prickled delightfully over his bruises. It felt…amazing and soothing. A long breathy moan left his lips as he moved the flannel over his body, catching wounds in a mix of pain and pleasure. Sparrow rubbed at the dirt and grime on his skin, feeling sleep call him as his movements slowed down. His muscles weighed a ton now. The last thing he thought of was how Sable would never let him get this wasted when the mutt was alive. He laughed, then sobbed, then gave in to slumber.

When he woke up next, the water had gone cold but there were warm hands massaging his shoulders. Needless to say, he was alarmed but could do little. His body was not really cooperating with him at the moment. He tried, though. He tried moving away from the touches, sloshing the water weakly but trembled from the effort.

"Easy, Hero. I've got you," Reaver's voice tickled his nape. Sparrow sighed in both content and defeat. His muscles screamed at him when he stretched, feeling hands trail over his back. Sparrow groaned at the contact, sensitised from the healing. His skin had puckered from being too long in the water. He forced his body out of the tub, sluggish and uncaring about his nudity, water dripping on the floor. Reaver caught him before he fell. They slowly made their way to the bed where Sparrow collapsed. Insistent hands adjusted him so that he lay comfortably under the sheets even though he was soaking them with bathwater. He fell asleep again.

---

Sunlight warmed his eyelids when he came to. He kept his eyes closed as he took in the morning and the sounds of the mansion. Alex was in the kitchen like most of the servants were. He heard their padded feet walking on the floor. The sounds of breath within his room also came to him. He was here wasn't he? A heavy hand wound its way around his waist, pulling him till his back was pressed against a firm chest. Warm exhales fluttered against the nape of his neck. Sparrow sighed in comfort.

"Still tired?" the other man asked, sounding like he did not care. Sparrow nodded anyway, shifting in the hold. His limbs were heavy and he still felt the traces of ache running through his body. He was exhausted even though he had just woken up from deep rest. He was too tired to fight.

Burning fingertips traced over his will lines as a pliant mouth lapped his skin. The grip on his waist tightened. Sparrow shuddered, feeling a bit more awake. He opened his eyes then, seeing the both of them reflected in the full-length mirror opposite the bed. His gaze met the pirate's in the reflection and Reaver stopped his ministrations on his neck to smirk at him. He saw his own cheeks redden before he felt the heat in them. He expected the pirate to comment but he only rolled over him, before capturing his lips in a searing kiss that was both gentle and demanding. The pirate was already much too energetic in the morning. The tip of a soft tongue slid over his lips, coaxing them apart to plunge into his mouth. Sparrow weakly shoved against him, the velvet muscle leaving the confines of his mouth, but their lips were still pressed together, breaths mingling. There was a taste of wine in his mouth. With a shaky breath, Sparrow turned his face away from him and the mirror. The same pliant mouth made a wet path on his throat, softly nipping at the flesh, a hum vibrating around each mark.

This felt very good. His touches always felt good. It had been just one night that they spent together but Sparrow was certain he knew enough to know the extent of Reaver's skills in bed. It was easy to be sucked into this. In fact, he was already giving up his resolve when the kisses slid down his chest so tender that they hurt. Those kisses weren't meant. They were just for breaking. He wanted to blame it all on exhaustion because he was indeed, exhausted. He wanted to shove Reaver but as he pressed a hand against the pirate's bare chest, heartbeats kissing his palm made him hesitate. He had forgotten that even demons had hearts. The skin was warm against his touch. The pirate lifted his head to meet Sparrow's sidelong gaze and for a moment, his teasing smirk faded into something akin to a human smile, a reassuring one even. Something pierced Sparrow right under his ribs then, something warm and sharp.

"I wonder what y' want. Y' nevr seem to want anythin', love." Reaver's voice slipped into a mixture of foreign accents that Sparrow couldn't place. There was a warm, wet kiss placed over his pulse. "M willin' to give it to y'…" Sparrow closed his eyes and snorted in response. His body shivered as he tried to control his inner demons that rose to meet him. He wanted many things. He just couldn't have them. Like his family back. He felt cheated. That was probably why he kept hoping Theresa would voice to him, again. Tell him she made a mistake. Tell him that there was some way he could get them back. It was not going to happen was it? That was why this was happening. This was the consolation prize. This push-and-pull-thing with the pirate. He wanted it, yet he didn't. This was going to be physically good, yet was this good? Why did he even want to be good in the first place? Being good cost him his family. Why was he thinking about this, even? No more. No more thoughts for today. As he stared up at the pirate who was waiting for some sort of answer, he felt that maybe it wasn't such a bad consolation after all.

"Reava…" he murmured. He felt the pirate shudder at the name he uttered. The grey eyes staring back at him had unbridled lust in them. Sparrow threaded his fingers through the soft, dark hair and pulled him close. "M'tired," he said weakly, his voice disappearing into the other's lips. Reaver grinned slowly as he nuzzled the man below him.

"Y' brought this upon yourself." He laughed. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Being like this. And that voice…" Reaver pulled the covers up around the both of them. "I will not hold back later, Sparrow," he said firmly; his tone was a dangerous calmness. Sometime during this exchange, Sparrow fell asleep again.


	7. Chapter 7

_Note: Thanks for the reviews. Thanks for reading. This part (like all the rest) has attempted smut as well. _

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**The Breaking**  
**Chapter 7**

He was falling…into a ravine, an abyss. All he could see was the spot of light where the sky was; everywhere around him was darkness. He fell like the way he fell when Lucien shot him through the window of his castle. The last thing he had thought of was how the sky was indeed beautiful with all its glittering stars and how he had never really seen it for what it was : just a never-ending blanket of sparkles that did not give anything, but constantly urged for silent wishes. Wishes never came true.

Rose, where are you?

He landed. His eyes shot open to see his skin looking paler in the dark.

The moonlight made his skin glow strangely in the dark. He realised he was alone again as he lifted himself up. His lonely reflection in the mirror confirmed the stillness in the air. As he shifted off the bed, he noticed the clothes laid out on the other side of the bed. They were his clothes, but not those he was accustomed to wearing. If Alex had laid them out, then he should wear them. Dimly, he thought of the possibility of the pirate choosing these clothes instead of Alex. His stomach growled at him as he pulled on the noble attire. He had not eaten for days. After taking one final glance around the room, he padded to the door, leaning against it to push it open.

The candles were lit tonight. Having lit candles were not rare, but not frequent either. Sparrow walked around in the dark most of the time. All the servants were out of the mansion by now. As he passed by the mirror in the hall again, he noted his unkempt hair, the leather around his neck and the stark blue lines on his pale skin. There were other things too. He could see a bite mark peeking underneath the open collar of his outfit and he shivered in the memory of it.

Bending forward, he blew out the light closest to the mirror. It was not that he hated the light. It was the flickering shadows that he hated. They made the darkness more oppressive to him.

He ate his now cold dinner. He picked out the sounds of the night, of the mansion. Bloodstone's night life continued outside the mansion with drunken brawling and worse, drunken singing in the air. He heard the house settle. He heard Reaver in the study, pacing and talking to himself. That man loved the sound of his own voice.

He found himself entering the study, whistling the tune James the Bard had sung the other night on his doorstep. The happy tune sounded mournful coming from his lips.

The first thing he saw was not the pirate still pacing back and forth. It was the miniature Spire statue shimmering as it bathed in the moonlight. From the corner of his eyes, Reaver had stopped his pacing. He spared the pirate a glance before stepping over to the spire statue. For some reason, his proximity made the tiny holes in it glow with ethereal light, like a fire had sparked within it. His fingers hovered over its ridges, tracing the uneven grooves and scratches without touching them. There was a kind of heat emanating from it as well, beckoning him.

"It shows you a part of the future. Supposedly," Reaver exclaimed as he pulled Sparrow away from it with a tight grip on his waist, slipping roaming fingers under his clothes. Sparrow choked on a breath as he caught Reaver's frustrated gaze that lay on the spire for a moment. "Same old future in mine." Reaver turned him around to place kisses on his throat. "Death and whatnot." A flicker of something crossed his face but he had started unbuttoning Sparrow's shirt, latching onto his collarbone with an impatient growl. Sparrow took a final glance at the spire then wriggled out of the embrace earning an uncharacteristic grunt from the man. He did not know what to do. No. He knew what to do. Only…was it good? He watched Reaver eye him with forced patience. The pirate's fingers were trembling. Sparrow pressed his palm against the other's chest, feeling the strong heart beating.

He did not want to wait.

Sparrow started stripping, heat travelling up his body. The study was too bright with the light. With quick steps, he blew out the candles in the study, eliminating more visibility and heat with each puff of breath as he pulled off his clothes until he was naked and the fireplace was the only one burning. Reaver pinned him against the wall, hands stroking his sides in frantic movements as soon as Sparrow extinguished the fireplace. He took the initiative to slip his tongue into the pirate's open mouth, coaxing his tongue to respond, and when the muscle did, Sparrow shivered; it had gotten much too hot in the room, then. Patches of fire lit his skin where hands traced patterns and gibberish into his flesh, an insistent tongue licking the salt of his wounds. Sparrow growled as he was lifted onto the desk with a rough shove. "I'd much rather see this in my future," he said, harsh against his ear. Then he chuckled. "Ah…but if I did, I'd think it was my past." Sparrow bit down on his shoulder as the chuckling turned into laughter. Sparrow realised, not for the first time, that there was something very wrong with him when he decided to recite names of potions in his mind as he felt maddening wet swirls over his skin, little bites across his abdomen, harsh breaths ghosting over his throat.

Reaver was not gentle. He was cruel. The press of fingertips on his thighs would leave marks on his skin. The bites on his neck would leave wounds as sharp teeth ripped his flesh. He was claiming Sparrow, not loving him. This was possession before the throwing away. In the back of his mind, Sparrow realised that this was exactly what he wanted. This bruising madness raging through his body…this was the burst of life he had wanted for so long. He wondered if Theresa knew when she stared into his eyes, peering into his heart, that this moment of letting go was what he always fell back on in near-death moments. This was what Sparrow likened dying to. Sparrow realised that she did know, though, just refused to acknowledge it. His eyes fell to the Spire statue, glowing in the darkness. It beckoned him.

"Pay attention," Reaver commanded hotly into his ear as he gripped him. "Don't make me tie you up." Sparrow noted his swollen red lips and dishevelled hair, the sweat-slicked skin against his own. So soon, the pirate had melted his iciness. Where had the perpetual coldness gone? He gently laced his fingers through Reaver's hair, pulling him close to kiss him again. Reaver relaxed against him. With that, the mixture of foreign accents fell from his lips again. _Amore mio._ Sparrow knew what that meant and knew better to know that it was not meant. He pressed a hand against the other's chest, feeling the erratic heartbeats on his palm. A kind of unfathomable sadness settled over him. Even though his body responded with such neediness, his whole being was suddenly so torn up with emptiness.

For some reason, he stared out the window at the sky. The stars twinkled at him, much like the way they did in his dream. Sparrow wished for something to fill the emptiness. He wished that this… interaction or attraction, this animal magnetism was more than just that. He wished that his own heart would beat properly and purposefully again.

He wished his wishes came true.

For the sky was just a never-ending blanket of sparkles that did not give anything but constantly urged for silent wishes that would not come true.


	8. Chapter 8

_Note: A short update, for now. I thank everyone who is following this and enjoying this. I hope I do not disappoint with my late updates as well as the story flow. This seems to be taking a route of its own, a slightly different one than I had planned, though I don't know yet if that is a bad or good thing. Hmmm... Again, I appreciate all your reviews and feedback. Onwards. _

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**The Breaking**  
**Chapter 8**

"Scream for me, love," the pirate harshly whispered on his skin. Sparrows scoffed because he had done nothing else but scream throughout the night. There were scratches stinging his back as the pirate scraped his nails over the same red welts he had caused. Marks of claim. There were bites on his neck, vicious and relentless as they nipped at the softer flesh there. In the mirror, he saw the trickles of blood flowing from the bites. Red trails marked his chest. Red fingerprints stained the many odd places on his skin. They only served to emphasise his glowing paleness, like he was a tainted canvas short of a masterpiece. There was a tight grip around his length which tightened with each hard thrust into his willing body. Sparrow was indeed screaming, only they came out like breathless moans because his throat felt raw and torn. How long had it been? Hours? He felt like he had been screaming for hours, begging for the madness to stop, begging for more. He choked on a breath when rough fingers wrenched his hair back to bare his long column of throat.

"Look at me when I pull off your feathers." The pirate's eyes bore into his in the reflection of the mirror. Evil. That was the only way to describe the piercing gaze. Sparrow narrowed his eyes and glared only to get lost in the sudden pleasure that racked through his body. He whined pathetically as his body lurched forward from the rough handling. Breathless. The coils of pleasure lazily danced in his navel, tugging at him almost cruelly. The grip on his hair loosened but the same fingers dug into his waist when the momentum sped up. He was still…they were both still very painfully aroused. Watching them both reflected in the mirror was too much and Sparrow released over the glass, over the fist that held him, his mouth open in a broken scream.

"Beautiful," was uttered almost reverently in his ear before he felt scorching warmth fill him, then spill over the back of his thighs as Reaver jerked haphazardly against him. Desire rippled up his muscles at the feel and the sight. It was then that soft, gentle kisses made its way up his spine and to his cheek. Sparrow closed his eyes tight as he felt the cord around his wrists loosened and dropped to the floor. He, himself slumped down and lay spent on the rug on the floor, twitching as fever crawled up his skin.

There was something strange in the air when he opened his eyes. It was still very dark.

He thought he heard a voice. He thought he heard Theresa calling him.

Frozen for a moment longer, he realised that it actually might have just been Reaver whispering things as he slept. Sparrow was horrified to find it strangely endearing that the pirate was talking even while asleep, yet Sparrow did not expect any less. The pirate's warm breathing ghosted over his chest and Sparrow unlaced his own fingers from the other's hair. He felt sticky and sore with rushes of pain running up and down his back.

Last night happened, evidenced by the state of disarray this whole room was in, the state of disarray the both of them were in. What they did was… filthy. The whole room was bathed in it. Every sniff was almost cloying because it filled him with the realisation that once again he had let himself be used in such a sickening manner. His body, though, revelled in the scent of their utter abandonment. He wondered how this person, this pirate could tear him apart so easily, so simply. Maybe the breaking that Reaver did had a long lasting effect on him and his body… and his voice. He might try his hardest to forget but the flesh remembered. His reactions to Reaver would forever be ingrained in his whole being. His throat was burning now, like he had been screaming himself hoarse for days. A sharp pain shot up his spine as he pushed himself off the floor. Reaching for the bottle of wine, his hands shook as the red liquid swirled into the always available fluted glass on the table. He drank. He froze.

There it was again. The wispy voice that called to him. It did not belong to Reaver.

Spinning around, his eyes fell onto the spire statue. He had forgotten that it had stood there as witness to their savage coupling. The ethereal light from within it burned bright, casting a bloody glow over his bare skin. The spire statue seemed to be more lifelike now than it was before, with its jagged edges; it even had a ring of mist at the very top. The spire was calling him. He placed the glass onto the table as he gingerly made his way to the statue. Again, he traced the edges with a finger. He did not anticipate the cold, clammy darkness that enveloped him.


	9. Chapter 9

_N__ote: Sorry for the late updates. Hopefully this story will be updated a bit more regularly now that I'm done with another fic. Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Onwards. _

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The Breaking  
Chapter 9

He scrambled to get up off the floor. It was cold again. It pierced through his bones and Sparrow shivered. He noticed the heavy, regal cloth covering him and he passed shaking hands over his body. It felt real. This was not an illusion. But the cold still seeped through the thick cloth, almost choking him as he inhaled. Scanning his surroundings with wild eyes, he saw the small spot of light on the floor where he stood.

Her voice was in his head. Her instructions came to him in wispy words, telling him to take a step forward into the darkness. The spot of light trailed him where he stepped. He was surprised to feel weightless…yet it was so cold. He walked. With each step, his body felt ravaged but as soon as he stopped to focus on the aches, they disappeared.

She faded into presence and they walked together into the darkness. The future promised tragedy. She showed him his choices, how he was going to rule Albion, how his royal subjects would serve him, how everything was predetermined even though it was just one of many threads his path could go. She said that his unborn daughter or son would determine the fate of Albion when the world was threatened again. Sparrow could not relate to it. It felt unreal. This was as illusive at the heavy robe over his shoulders, the crown on his head.

He did not want any of it.

She probably refused to be aware of it as she continued speaking, her voice caressing him with its forced gentleness.

Why would he subject his own future to her or anyone else once again? Was his whole life planned according to the way she planned it? He would rather be hurt than feel this false calmness, this false promise that he could make his own choices.

Pushing forward, he peeked into the crib to see a sleeping child inside. _His_ child. There was an odd jolt through his heart that felt both warm and painful. He reached out to touch a rosy cheek but feared that that touch would melt him and he would succumb to Albion's wants. It could break him. He could not put his child through the pain that awaited him or her. Yet, when Sparrow had 'saved' Albion, did he not feel like he had made his parents proud? That he had made Rose and Sable proud? That he had 'avenged' their deaths? Did he not 'save' Albion? He had watched the way his choices, no matter how small, had affected so many lives. Because of his choices, others could live and love. His child had to make that choice in the future. It was futile to try and 'save' himself, when it was saving others that saved him.

Why must he be bound? Why was Reaver unbound? But… the pirate was bound as well, was he not? He was bound to Shadow Court with his own dark dealings.

Why was he contemplating the pirate?

Thinking about this moment, he reached up to touch the leather around his throat. It was like a leash… binding him to the past. He unlatched the collar and grasped it in his hand, feeling the worn and frayed leather against his palm.

She touched his cheek and he stared into her pale eyes, wondering why he even thought she didn't see him craving a loveless relationship. She saw everything. Yet she never expressed anything, neither blessings nor repulse.

"These things you will understand in time. For now, you must live your life and prepare for what is to come," she said to him. In his mind, he knew what must be done. "Take care, little Sparrow. And remember that I am always here, always watching."

Then he woke up because sunlight was scorching his skin. He felt the leather still in his grasp. His throat felt empty without it clinging to him. But it was 'right'. As 'right' as the warm kisses on the band of skin where the leather used to be. The pirate was awake. His hands that had anchored themselves on his waist were trembling. For some reason, that caused a jolt through his body, not of desire or lust but something much deeper that bordered on painful. Sparrow could feel the aches now running down his muscles as he shifted.

The spire statue was gone.

The fingers on his waist dug into the purple bruises staining his skin. He hissed, feeling the warmth settle in his guts. "Your neck looks empty, my love bird…" the deep voice rumbled in his ear. "I ought to give you a better collar, with my name on it." The pirate chuckled. Sparrow pushed himself up. He was surprised that the pirate let him go but not without sighing. "Yes a collar. Then you would, at least feel obliged to languish with me in post-coital bliss." Sparrow moved to the window where his pants had somehow landed. He picked it up, not intending to wear it but to pile it with the rest of their clothing for the servants to clean easily. He just had to breathe for a while. Turning around, his eyes fell on his guest who watched him with a grin that resembled a satisfied Balverine. Sparrow just watched how the sunlight intruding the room had washed Reaver with an almost divine glow. Such a contradicting image. "You look awed, Sparrow. You should be, of course. But my, my, what a view…" Sparrow shivered in the heat of the gaze that raked his exposed skin. When Reaver started crawling to him, he closed his eyes and turned to the window. He leaned his forehead against the glass. He remembered the images Theresa had shown him, of his future. He breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes, he saw his hazy reflection in the glass.

Was it strange that his skin was glowing in a healthy radiance? It was not sallow and pale like the way it was the night before, but glimmering in the sunlight. Was it the sunlight that caused this change?

"Stay," Reaver said simply. It did not sound like a command, more like a plea whispered harshly against his pulse. Sparrow watched their blurry reflection, noticing how tired and worn they both seemed… almost world-weary. "Will you fight with me if I don't let you go? I fancy a good scrap." It sounded like a threat, yet it was smooth against his shoulder where small bites pinched him. Reaver chuckled again as he brushed his lips against the shell of Sparrow's ears. "My 'sin and salvation', she said..." his voice trailed off. Sparrow stilled. What was the pirate talking about?

"My 'sin and salvation'." Reaver rubbed his thumb across Sparrow's parted lips like he was claiming them as well. "I believe it."


	10. Chapter 10

**The Breaking  
Chapter 10**

It was three days later when he was awake enough to leave. By that time, the stains on him were too permanent to wash off. Every glance into the mirror showed the marks of claim and his – the pirate liked them. Sparrow strapped on his boots after putting the gun into the holster. As he turned around to pick up his Daichi, he noticed Reaver had been observing him from the edge of the bed. Just watching. And without the usual sinfully dark gaze that beckoned to him. It was almost…empty except for the rare soft smile playing on his lips.

"Why do you insist on leaving?" he asked in a mocking tone but he sounded amused. The pirate caressed the stock of his Dragonstomper as he watched Sparrow shrug on his clothes. A glance at the pistol caused a shiver to travel up his spine and the pull in Sparrow's gut signalled to him to be wary. It was strange that even after being in such intimate contact with the other man for so long, he could not trust the pirate not to kill him. But there was this warm feeling that spread through his chest whenever a 'soft' look came his way. That look was there, now. Sparrow tied up his hair, his eyes still trained on the pirate.

"There is nothing out there," Reaver said. He swayed over to Sparrow, skilfully picking up the glass of wine on the table and swirling its contents before putting it to his lips. He sipped then handed the glass to Sparrow. Sparrow drank while fingers trailed over his cheeks, his neck and tugged the knot that held his hair together and pulled it loose. "I still haven't decided how to kill you." Sparrow hissed as sharp teeth grazed the bruises on his neck. After all that, the pirate still wanted to kill him. Why he expected any less bothered him. "You deserve something better than a simple shot. Though it is an honour to die by my hands,…still…" Reaver pressed a gentle kiss on his temple. "I want you saying my name at the final breath." He chuckled. "Preferably with a smile on your face."

The new strap of leather around his throat chafed his skin but in time, he would get used to it. It did not have 'Reaver' imprinted on it like the man promised but entwined around it were tiny red threads that stemmed from a small red rose in the back of the collar. In sunlight, the red resembled minute blood trails. The image reminded Sparrow of the 'Thief' fate card he kept somewhere in his pockets.

Watching the sunlight flood the floor when he swung the door open, he felt ready to face his 'duties'. He knew what he had to do, yet that first step into the light was chilling. Purpose. He had wanted it. And with the visions Theresa had shown him, he had 'purpose' once again and more. But when he thought about the mansion, Bloodstone and Reaver… he wanted this promise of 'nothing' more than 'purpose'. It was true, was it not? Purpose came with promises and… If there were no promises, there would be no breaking of said promises. Reaver stood beside him.

"Why must you insist on leaving?" Reaver asked again, sounding frustrated this time. "I don't like how that…woman has this power over you. You belong to me." His tone and the darkness that shifted over his features stunned Sparrow for a moment before he reached up and brushed the pirate's cheek… because Sparrow felt torn. It was undeniable that no matter the many wounds that peppered his flesh, he was quite attached to the man who had caused them. Oddly attached. It might be the collar pushing these feelings onto him but the sharp ache at having to say farewell felt very real. Reaver wrenched him close to devour his lips with passion, biting and licking. "I'm leaving. For Samarkhand. Or somewhere…warmer. You could always join me, love." Briefly Sparrow wondered why the pirate did not just force him to follow. He could demand and cajole and maybe Sparrow would relent, but Reaver did not even attempt to persuade."You belong to me," he whispered harshly instead. They both knew that was not true. Sparrow could belong to Reaver. But he always belonged to Albion. Leaning close, he whispered to Reaver 'Aye, Reava… I do.' How easily that submission slipped from his lips.

He headed to Bowerstone first. The warm welcome surprised him. He had forgotten that there were people who actually liked him. Derek the Sheriff brought him around and told him news of the town. He stared at his statue, done in his very likeness. Reaver did not even manage to get one statue of him done completely. What would be left as reminder when everything was over? That night, Bowerstone held a small party for him at the town square, celebrating his return. What a change it was from being cooped up in a town run rampant from corruption the way Bloodstone was. Here, people wanted his opinions, skills and his help. He suddenly wondered what Reaver had wanted from him all this time. He never pondered it properly. To break Sparrow. That was it, was it not? Fingering the collar, Sparrow listened to the Roland the bard singing tales of heroism. The atmosphere was both melancholic and joyous as he watched couples dancing under the black canvas of stars.

It felt like he would never see Reaver again.

And that was probably for the better.


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: Meh... Not so proud of this chapter. I don't know. I might rewrite it in the future. But for now, I'll put this up first. _

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**The Breaking**  
**Chapter 11**

Like every morning, there was a chill in the air as the day greeted the mansion. Watching the sunlight pierce through glass, Sparrow tied up his hair and glanced at the collar around his neck in the reflection of his mirror. Some parts of the leather had frayed but the red marks on it were still very vivid. The marks on his body, however, had faded no matter how permanent they seemed in the past. But Sparrow could remember every kiss and touch skimming on his skin. He rarely indulged in such memories now. There were more important things to think about.

Swinging the shovel over his shoulder, he left the mansion. He maintained the older graves, cleaning up the area and placing fresh flowers on them. He dug up new graves for two that had fallen to a bandit ambush. One was a guard. One was a bandit. Fortunately, these attacks were not as frequent as it used to be. But they never lessened in its viciousness. He dusted dirt off one of the headstones before moving on to another part of the cemetery.

The town willingly gave the post of gravekeeper to him because for years, the guards had to do the job. No one saw death more than Sparrow had so it was fitting that he handled the dead. He had caused it too many times as well. He moved into the empty cemetery mansion that Victor had given him the deed to. Sparrow fixed the mansion, filing up the broken floorboards and converted the old ruin into a liveable home. He divided the attic into rooms, and the first floor into a dining room of sorts.

He had been trying to make a home. He had to as he was not living alone anymore.

The twins took their mother's exquisite beauty and his sister's kind eyes. They also had a fondness for mystery and secrets just like their mother, Jessica, had. It baffled him how she always knew what he was looking for without him saying a word. Like the way she ran the Box of Secrets, she offered him the very thing he needed for a little trade, only this time she was thanking him for helping the island. He had been sitting by the Knothole Island graves, brooding in the snow when she gave him a proposition. She offered to be the bearer of his children and he agreed. The twins were born on Knothole Island, the boy a few moments after the sister, and ever since, Sparrow had been working to be the best father he could to them. They would be five years old in the winter.

It was not lonely with two energetic children running around with their toy guns and swords but sometimes as Sparrow stared up into the night sky, he thought of the days he had willingly given in to scorching warmth. Life was much different now. But life was good and Sparrow was content. It was peaceful being away from continuous danger. In the past, bloodlust consumed him but now, he had to protect more than destroy. Victor's mansion was actually a perfect place to hide from the living.

Where were Victor and the reanimated Lady Grey?

Wherever they were, he wished them happiness. Victor craved it all his life. Sparrow moved all his books and diagrams into the basement. Most of the books were about Lady Grey and tales of the resurrection machine. The machine stood collecting dust in the corner of the basement as Sparrow read up entries and entries of failed experiments and a despairing love. Victor had been a very lonely man. Staying in the cemetery did not do him well. With the portrait of Lady Grey as his only company, it was no wonder he worshipped her. Sparrow maintained the basement as it was; only occasionally tinkering with the resurrection machine. He wondered what it would be like to reanimate Lucien to ask him about his sister. He had wanted to hurt the man, but now, the anger had disappeared. He understood how devastating it must have been to lose his daughter. Sparrow imagined he would have been just as desperate; he would grasp at anything to get his family back if he lost them again.

After supper, they read together, and then when the children fell asleep, he carried them to their beds and tucked them in. They slept with their weapons of choice by their bed… just like their father. Sparrow returned to the study to tidy up for the night. It was while extinguishing the fires that he heard the sound of men approaching the house.

Just a few footfalls climbing up the steps but suspicious because not many would willingly enter a cemetery when night fell. In the darkness, Sparrow reached for his Daichi and inched to the front door. If they were hostile, the Daichi would take care of them nicely. Quietly too, so as not to wake up the children. Sparrow peered at them from the window. There were three men. Cloaks hid their faces that he could not see their features. Two of them were carrying something long and bulky; it was covered with a sheet of dark cloth that shimmered in the moonlight. The shortest of the three, reached the door first. Before the man could knock, Sparrow had swung the door open and swiftly rested the blade against the man's neck. There was a sharp intake of breath from the man.

"…M..mmaster Sparrow?" the familiar voice left the other's lips and Sparrow froze. It was Alex, only his large eyes had taken a haunted quality. What was the butler doing here?

He pulled the blade away from his former butler, recognising the other two men with him as servants from the Bloodstone mansion. Their faces were ashen and pale and they looked gaunt in the moonlight; they almost seemed fearful as their eyes darted around. They were most definitely not in an amiable mood and this was not a friendly visit. It could be the cemetery. People generally stayed away from Bowerstone Cemetary unless they were dead.

Sparrow beckoned them inside. They lugged the huge oblong box into the hall and placed it onto the floor; their actions were hesitant and jerky. After closing the heavy oak door behind them, Sparrow directed them into the dining room where he poured them some cider. Alex watched him with unchecked nervousness. Sparrow narrowed in on the oblong box they had been carrying as he threw fire onto the newly extinguished logs. He moved forward to remove the sheet that covered the box. Underneath the cloth, which he discovered was satin, was a coffin. Sparrow lifted his eyes to see three pairs of wide eyes staring back at him. The sight of the coffin did not bother him but the men's reactions did. Alex knelt down next to him and parted his lips to speak but only a shaky breath came out. The butler averted his eyes to the coffin. Sparrow noticed the red-rimmed eyes, then. Alex had been crying. This person must have been someone important to him.

Sparrow turned to the coffin and wedged his fingers under the lid.

He lifted the lid.

It was Reaver.


	12. Chapter 12

_Note: Whoever's following or reading this even...thanks. I really appreciate it. Onwards._

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**The Breaking**  
**Chapter 12**

It was like the pirate had shot him after all and he had bled everything out, leaving nothing but facts.

This was Reaver.

Reaver was dead.

This was… Reaver.

It never crossed Sparrow's mind that he would live to see a lifeless Reaver. Sparrow brushed his knuckles over Reaver's prominent cheekbones. The almost blistering warmth that was synonymous with the pirate was gone. It was…His body was cold to the touch. Unbearably cold because Reaver felt like any other corpse. The skin that Sparrow remembered as forever scorching was icy and passive. The lips that were now plain without its 'perpetual' smirk felt frozen on his fingertips. The eyelids that hid piercing eyes were unyielding. The too pale skin, paler than his own, was like porcelain. Devoid of fire. A shuddering breath passed Sparrow's lips as he mouthed the pirate's name on an unresponsive palm.

Cold.

So cold.

No twitches of breath. No tiny jerks of nerves where skin met skin. There was nothing that resembled Reaver.

Yet…

…this… was Reaver.

And Reaver was dead.

Sparrow only swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed his eyes, the image of a dead Reaver staining the back of his eyelids.

He turned to the sealed envelope in his hands. Alex had given it to him before heading back to Bowerstone Market. Sparrow's hands shook as he trailed fingers over his name curled in a beautiful flourish on the envelope. The pirate had written it before his death, before he left the mansion for Shadow Court.

Alex said Shadow Court finally claimed his soul.

Sparrow could not picture it. It was unlike Reaver to go into the darkness without a way out somehow. How could Reaver give in so easily? He would have fought death and tricked it for another century instead of letting go like this. It was… 'wrong' that the pirate was dead.

Yet, here he was, blissfully unaware of how Sparrow had weakened when he first recognised that handsome face under the lid of the equally handsome coffin. Never had Sparrow felt more… broken than he was now. Because he had never admitted to himself that he wanted this man and was envious of the many trysts the pirate had with others, that Sparrow sometimes wished he was the only one. Because in Sparrow's life, Reaver had been the only one. But Reaver was dead now and it was too late to wish for something more than a promised nothing.

The creak above him meant that one of the twins was awake; reminding him of his responsibilities. Sparrow dragged the coffin into the basement, the sound of wood scratching the floor echoing in the hallway. Trudging up to the bedroom, he checked the twins. The girl had pulled her toy sword close to her sleeping body. Laying a kiss on her forehead, Sparrow gently shut the door. He returned to the basement and lifted the lid of the coffin to press his lips on Reaver's forehead. Still very cold. Still very dead.

Sparrow traced the seal on the envelope before breaking it. He unfolded the soft parchment inside.

_'__Are you crying for me, Sparrow?' _

That first line sounded so much like Reaver that Sparrow made a choked sound that was between a sob and a chuckle.

_'__Nobody has done that in a long time. Well, Nicole did last week. And Jenna before that with her brother Jesse. But your tears matter more to me, of course. Do I still look dashing in death?'_

Aye, Reava. Ye do. But pale skin does not become ye.

'_You should know that I am not one to seek or wait. I just miss your voice, love.' _

Sparrow smiled sadly and he paused his reading to light a candle. Then, the letter took a different turn.

_'__It has come to my knowledge that you possess a very special machine.'_

In that moment, Sparrow understood why Alex sent Reaver to him.

_'__A contraption that defies death.'_

Sparrow's gaze darted over to the resurrection machine; the flame of the candle casting flickering shadows over the metal. So, this was why…The pirate had intended to cheat death after all.

_'__She told me you would be the one to 'save' me, Sparrow.'_

Sparrow felt a weight settle on his shoulders and tasted bitterness on his tongue.

_'__Consider this an exchange for sparing your life… Do be quick, Hero. I am sure my soul is in an unpleasant place right now.' _

Sparrow inhaled deeply as the strange mixture of relief and frustration spread through his being. The collar burned around his neck; it felt tighter and more constricting than usual, pressing against his windpipe.

He felt like he was toyed with. Then again, this was the way it had always been with the pirate was it not? He let the letter drop to the floor as he watched Reaver's supine form within the coffin. Even in death the pirate tormented him, pushing and pulling him apart. Breaking him like shattered glass.

Sparrow watched the dead till morning light spilled into the mansion as he worked out the resurrection procedure in his mind. He knew exactly what to do, the buttons to press, the levers to pull and the chemicals to pour.

The question was whether to let the love potion in the machine work its magic on Reaver as well.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Breaking  
Chapter 13**

"Daddy, don't be sad," the twins said as they kissed him goodbye before leaving for school. Sparrow snorted; assuring them he had nothing to be sad about. He was merely annoyed. And not at them. Just at one particular dead Hero of Skill who still wanted to cheat death even though he was already dead. The ridiculous thought tugged a little quirk of a smile on his lips, assuring the twins that Daddy was indeed 'not sad'. As he watched them pass the gates of the house, he cleared up breakfast and started a stew, slicing vegetables with more force than necessary. It was only after he finished cleaning up that his eyes fell on the envelope. Sparrow could not deny the hammering against his chest as he thought of a Reaver, living again. Somehow Reaver escaped all the absolutes of life and death in his mind. There were no absolutes. Only memories. Sparrow turned away from the basement door and left the house for work. The dead needed weeded graves today. He worked on the graves distractedly. The weeds had been pulled roughly, fresh flowers on the graves bruised from careless handling. Sparrow's mind kept wandering to the too dead body in the basement of the mansion and he could not concentrate. It felt like his hands wanted to unleash the kind of bloodlust that he used to crave in the past.

When noon arrived, Sparrow returned to mansion with dread weighing in his stomach. Time to resurrect an old friend. It was an almost mindless task as Sparrow prepared the machine. He had gone through the procedure too many times to count, prepping for a corpse that would never arrive. The only one that did was the last one he expected. Sparrow glanced at the pale form in the opened coffin. Soon he would wake. What then? As soon as the pirate's eyes opened, he would leave. And Sparrow would let him. Bitter thoughts filled his mind.

He nudged his hands under the body. He carefully hauled the body up, pulling it close to his chest. Cold. It still amazed him how his mind was still in disbelief when the body in his arms undoubtedly belonged to Reaver. Just a few more minutes of silence before he would awake again. Placing the lifeless into the machine, Sparrow attached the wires onto the core points according to the diagrams Victor provided. The fingers. The temples.

The last time this happened, it was a grey pile of bits of meat and bone that stared up at him as it awaited the return of its soul. Victor the gravekeeper still called her beautiful without knowing the actual person that pile of grey had really been. There was a reason she was taken apart like that and Victor, who claimed to know everything about her past, still wanted her. The first time Victor saw her broken pieces, he had fallen deeper in love, a real, permanent kind of love. That was what had driven him to add a love potion that induced attraction and devotion in Lady Grey. Lady Grey had opened her eyes and Sparrow had seen them brighten at the sight of the timid gravekeeper. Induced love.

Here, now. It was Reaver in that machine. He was complete, not broken grey parts of a corpse. In honest truth, Reaver looked…beautiful; like Reaver and not a pile of decomposed flesh. He looked peaceful; as peaceful as he looked whenever he slept after a long night except that there were no muttered words falling from his lips this time. Sparrow paused in his task to observe the dark lashes in contrast to the too pale skin. He brushed his thumb over the faint scar across Reaver's lips. It was unnoticeable when the lips were curled into a smirk. But with the mouth set to neutral, as it was now, it was visible. Sparrow caught himself before he leaned down to press his lips onto the unresponsive ones.

He finally took out the rod of life from its case and inserted it into the machine. It lit up blinding white. Sparrow put the finishing touches onto the machine, wound his fingers around the lever and pulled. The machine whirred to life. Electricity surged through the machine as the oversized lamps on its hull connected with a strand of lightning blue. A cloud of smoke formed around the body, dark and thick as it engulfed Reaver, hiding his face from sight. For a long time the smoke swam around the contraption; Sparrow watched and waited, noting the sounds of the mansion. Only the machine was creating a racket. The machine wailed when it died, the tinning sound faded when the smoke cleared. The metal casing sprang apart with a clang and a whine, revealing the supine body. Sparrow waited. He watched the body sit up in a slow, fluid movement, hands stretched out in front of it like it was reaching for something or someone. A low moan escaped from the other's lips as the fingers twitched now and Reaver placed his palms over his face. Sparrow's breath left him at that moment.

"That… was hell," Reaver said. That admission made Sparrow feel a spark of familiarity under his ribs and he choked on a sob. Grey eyes focused on him. Reaver smiled at him the way he sometimes used to when it was just the two of them.

The pirate slid off the machine, his feet landing onto the stone floor with the grace he always had, as though he had not just died and lived again. Sparrow watched the pirate stroll up to him in measured steps, feeling a mixture of relief and euphoria spreading through his chest as the pirate neared him. His heart felt full and swollen. Reaver reached for him, his fingers running up Sparrow's arms, his neck and over his cheeks, before pulling him close. Being pressed up to the pirate like this, Sparrow felt the familiar fire burn slow within him but the coldness Reaver had in death was still present in the arms that wrapped around him.

"You decided to save me after all," Reaver mocked without venom. The exhaled breath caused ripples over the skin of Sparrow's neck. He felt hands slip under his shirt to press into his skin, sucking warmth from him. It was then that he realised that Reaver was trembling. He threw a blaze into the fireplace as he dragged the both of them to it. "Sparrow," Reaver whispered into his ear when they collapsed into the armchair which stood by it. He held Reaver till the pirate stopped trembling. Guilt came to Sparrow for being annoyed at Reaver. He felt guilty for pushing this procedure a bit later than it should be done, for hating Reaver so much sometimes, for many other things he did not want to think about now. This uncommon fragility Reaver showed broke his heart, causing a sharp exquisite pain in his chest with each breath.

"Isn't this strange…," Reaver said, the cold lips brushing the shell of his ear. "I long for you." Sparrow kept silent as he felt the other's pulse against his lips.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Breaking  
Chapter 14**

As promised, Alex returned to the mansion that evening together with the other two men. The twins had just taken their dinner and were in their room for bedtime. Sparrow had warned them to bolt their door that night. Despite their curiosity, they obeyed him, clutching to their toy weapons close to their bodies as they slept. Sparrow knew that the girl would wake later to sleep in her brother's bed, grasping tightly to her toy sword as she intended to protect the both of them and Daddy if she could. Reaver had fallen asleep in his arms a few hours ago, mere moments after he awoke from death. Why he had reacted like that was disturbing. Not only had Reaver never been this delicate but when Lady Grey awoke, she had conversed with strong conviction, her physique robust and full of life even though she had been broken into parts.

Alex followed Sparrow up to the bedroom to peek in on Reaver deep in slumber. He had wrapped the covers tightly around himself, breathing softly. Underneath the covers, he was still wearing the clothes he had died in. Sparrow placed a palm on the pirate's forehead; he was still cold. Alex turned to Sparrow. There was something conflicted in the butler's aura, like he was relieved yet troubled at the same time.

"Will he wake tonight?" Alex asked him. Sparrow shrugged. They watched the pirate sleep undisturbed for a while longer before Alex and the men decided to return to the inn. Sparrow offered them to stay in the mansion but they refused. Bowerstone Market was the lesser evil one of the men said. They left, taking a bit of Sparrow's sanity with them as he wondered what he was to do with Reaver should he wake. Sparrow laced his fingers through Reaver's locks, gently massaging his scalp. Reaver sighed in his sleep, as he shifted closer to the touch. Feeling fatigue take over him, Sparrow slipped under the covers next to the pirate who immediately grappled onto him. The cold took over Sparrow's own flesh as the other latched onto every single bit of warmth he had. Sparrow eventually fell asleep as well, feeling the chill on his skin but a burning within his chest.

When he awoke, it was with shock as cold lips were pressed onto the band of skin that was usually hidden under the leather strap around his neck. The leather strap was on the pillow next to him, threaded around long, elegant fingers. Once again, Sparrow tried to understand the pirate's habits but failed. Weighing down on his body was a nude Reaver. Dark hair tickled his skin as Reaver draped himself over him. For some reason, Reaver had stripped himself and thrown every article of clothing onto the floor even though his body felt icy to the touch. Sparrow's eyes darted to the mirror which stood by the window to see deathly white skin in contrast to his own. Reaver was still asleep, but no longer shivering. As he pulled the covers up around them, Sparrow listened to the sounds of the mansion. He rarely had to do this because the dead were quiet neighbours and the children slept like the dead. It was an old mansion hence; there were the occasional creaks and groans but it was usually silent. Now, Reaver was mumbling things into his skin, muttering half-formed sentences that Sparrow could not decipher. Sparrow did not sleep the rest of the night. When morning arrived, Sparrow watched the light spill slowly into the room and wash them both with a glow before untangling their limbs to go about his daily routines.

He told the twins to be quiet as they downed their breakfast. Do we have a guest, Daddy? Is he an old friend? Is he a hero? Is he strong like you, Daddy? Is he a bad man? He told them that Reaver loved the sound of his own voice. And that they should be polite and not mention his complexion. Or his tousled hair. They were eating their breakfast quietly when they heard soft footfalls padding down the staircase. Sparrow only hoped that Reaver did put on the clothes he had spread out before leaving the bedroom.

"My, my. This is interesting," he drawled when he entered the dining room, looking as pristine as ever as he commanded attention with his presence. Even the smirk was back in place as he eyed the scene before him. The twins stood up to greet the guest. Sparrow whispered to them that this was the Hero of Skill. Their eyes widened in recognition. They remembered the stories he told them, or rather, the schoolteacher had told them.

"My name is Rose, Mister Reaver. Daddy named me after his sister," Rose greeted as she curtsied, a big open smile pasted on her face. She was the more outspoken one of the two. Just like his sister had been. Sparrow ruffled her hair before he turned to the counter to cut up some bread. He heard Reaver snort and he flashed the pirate a glare to 'behave'. Children and the pirate was probably not such a good combination.

"M'name is Robin. Daddy never named me after anything," his son said, scowling.

"You got named after a bird. Like Daddy," Rose argued. Sparrow gritted his teeth as he turned, carefully avoiding Reaver's gaze. He expected the pirate to have a smirk on his face either of disgust or distaste. Rose clutched at his pants to tell him she wanted to leave and he hurried to give them their packed lunches. They ran to the door after yelling loud goodbyes to the men. Behind him, Reaver was silent.

"I used to know a Robin," he said. Sparrow grunted noncommittally. "Is he someone special, Hero?" Sparrow did not miss the mocking tone this time.

"Shut yer mouth, Reava," he demanded, earning a shocked laugh from the pirate. Reaver sat at the table watching him quietly and looking pleasantly content. How unreal. He handed Reaver a mug of warm water which he accepted, their fingers brushing. Sparrow watched him tip the mug on his lips; saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. When he finished the drink, Sparrow took the empty mug to wash.

"How domestic of you, Sparrow," Reaver commented, not without the smirk on his face. The sunlight shone on his face then and he truly seemed ethereal, the white of his skin making him look divine. He reached for Sparrow again, his thumb tracing the band of skin on his neck where the leather strap used to be. It almost felt like 'claiming' yet without the usual Reaver possessiveness. This was gentle and tender. In fact, Reaver was behaving unlike himself.

That day, Reaver decided to accompany him to the graves, sitting on headstones as he observed Sparrow working. He offhandedly made comments about the scenery, the quiet, and the parting messages on the tombstones. Never once did he mention his death or how it happened but Sparrow refused to ask. The sight of a dead Reaver had stained the back of his eyes and he was not willing to have to face it again so soon. All that mattered now was that the Hero of Skill was awake again, though changed somewhat. Sparrow watched Reaver twirl the leather collar between his fingers.

Alex returned to the mansion in the afternoon just after the twins returned home from school. It was most likely a blessing as with the children demanding Sparrow's attention, Reaver had been watching him with something heated. The twins asked Daddy where his 'necklace' was. Sparrow just shrugged and ordered they eat their greens. In the hallway, Alex conversed with Reaver about his health, physique and plans. Sparrow overheard that Reaver decided he wanted to stay for a while. 'I'm sure the Hero of Bowerstone wouldn't mind me staying.' He was right.

Reaver watched him spend time with his children, his gaze calculated. It was evident that he preferred to watch than be involved but Rose and Robin persuaded him to tell them stories. When Sparrow had remarked that the pirate loved the sound of his own voice, the children took it to mean that Reaver loved to tell tales. Surprisingly, Reaver relented as he told them about his travels and the people he met. He told them about weird habits and cultures. He told them about Garth and Hammer. Sparrow knew the children did not understand all that was said but they devoured every story with wide-eyed wonder, the words fuelling their imagination. It was a strange, yet not unpleasant scene before him: of Reaver entertaining children. When bedtime rolled around, Sparrow kissed the twins goodnight; they were already exhausted.

Reaver wound his hands around Sparrow that night. Sparrow had expected him to claim but he did not. He was gentle as he draped himself over Sparrow and fell asleep, his skin icy but the breaths on Sparrow's neck warm. Needless to say, Sparrow found it difficult to fall asleep again that night. He remembered thinking that this was almost how he pictured a perfect home should be when sleep finally beckoned him. He woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. Panic flared in his chest until he saw that Reaver was watching the sky from the window. The moonlight caused a shimmer in his skin whenever he breathed, the fine hairs reflecting the light. Reaver ran his fingers through his hair smoothly, flawlessly. He was indeed a breathtaking sight.

"I met a couple in Samarkhand," Reaver started. Evidently, he knew Sparrow was awake. "They spoke of you. I recognised the wife as Lady Grey. Of course, she has another name, now." He tilted his head to gaze at Sparrow, the light catching his features in just the right way. The expression on his face suggested that he knew Sparrow understood who he was referring to. "I saw her in pieces, you know. Hacked up and scattered by the witchspotters. Hmph. Savages." Reaver faced the sky. "But to see her alive again and married…" he continued. "Well…I had to do something." Reaver looked over his shoulder at Sparrow. "I shot her."


	15. Chapter 15

_Note: Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I had some difficulties during editing._

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The Breaking  
Chapter 15

Death did not change him one bit. From the way his eyes lit up in mirth, the way his lips were pulled into an amused smirk to the way he shrugged his shoulders as he coolly announced murder, Sparrow realised that death did nothing to Reaver's conscience. It was probably just another vacation to him, just another place he visited and left, like Samarkhand, like the countless men and women he bedded; just another uncharted map. All Sparrow did was cover his face as he let the news sink into the depths of his mind and his heart. What of Victor? The despair, desperation, and agony he must have felt at having to see the bullet rip the soul from his wife, a soul that he had so painstakingly tried to pull from death. That container which held that soul, the body, would have crashed to the ground, leaking a pool of crimson on the floor. Dead. The image of the dead Reaver came to him again and Sparrow shot out of bed.

"She always looked pretty in red," the deep voice added. Sparrow found himself walking to the door to leave the room. He predicted that whatever happened, it was not going to be a pleasant scene for his children to face should they wake up. Gritting his teeth, he made sure that the door to the twins' room was truly bolted before stepping down the stairs all the way to the basement. He threw a blaze onto the logs as soon as the chill of the room greeted him. Tying his hair into a knot, Sparrow heard echoing footsteps follow him. A glance at the man behind him told Sparrow that Reaver felt proud of himself as he swayed towards him. The pants he wore hung loose over his hips; Reaver had not bothered to lace it up, and fine hairs peeked over the crotch of the pants. Sparrow leaned against the table where countless books rested. He had not cleaned up the mess since he brought Reaver back to life. The pirate took a few steps towards him but stopped advancing when Sparrow glared at him. A smirk made its way to his lips. A surge of self-loathing came to Sparrow because after all that, he still wanted the pirate. It was because he had lain down with this man that he could 'forgive' him for being the person he was, sometimes. The truth of it was the confession did not surprise him.

"I just thought your friend deserved better," Reaver explained as though it was justified murder, as though he cared. "I also thought it strange when the wound stitched itself up." Sparrow's gaze darted over to Reaver whose smirk widened and he began walking again. When he was close enough, he brushed Sparrow's cheek with the back of his palm, causing a shiver to travel up his spine. Reaver's touch was still cold but the breath in his ear was warm. "Ah…but she lived." Sparrow's eyes shot to Reaver's grey ones that lit up with amuse. "She was undead, rather." A deep chuckle came to him. "Your gravekeeper finally told me his secret. At gunpoint, of course. He told me about your help. And the machine." Long fingers threaded Sparrow's own. "And here I am."

Here he was. If what he said about Lady Grey was true, then… That meant that Reaver was just as undead as Lady Grey. Truly immortal. And without the hassle of sacrificing humans to Shadow Court. In that perspective, Sparrow understood now why Reaver wanted to go through with this procedure. He could leave and not return to Shadow Court for years. Forever, even.

"You see, I've grown weary of Shadow Court." The fingers in his grip twitched at the mention of the court. "Too many rules." A sudden bite on his collarbone shocked Sparrow and he gasped at the mix of hot and cold on his flesh. With a smirk, Reaver leaned down to lick a trail up Sparrow's chest to his throat all the way to his ear where he tugged the lobe with his teeth. Where skin met skin, it was cold as ice but the fire that raked Sparrow's skin from that mouth burned him. "Now, I am truly undead," he whispered. "Free of the nightmares that plague me. I can now dream of you. And of this."

The easy smile came to his lips as Reaver pressed cold kisses onto his cheek and rubbed his body against Sparrow's almost lazily but it woke the longing that lay dormant within him. A choked sound escaped his throat at the feelings the contact induced. Unchecked desire. Longing. Familiarity. Reaver tipped his chin up to capture his lips in a kiss, drinking deep till their mouths went slack against each other, velvet wetness entwined in a maddening dance. There was no taste of wine or anything else. Just pure Reaver in that kiss. Just him and his essence. Sparrow had never forgotten this taste as he swallowed, causing tremors all over his flesh as his body awoke to the lover it had always craved. Reminding himself that he was presently unbound, Sparrow slid his palms up the cool body currently pressed against him. He relished the permission to touch; it was not often granted to him. The skin twitched with breath with each caress of a muscle, every scrape of their tongues, every flick of a finger on a hardened nipple. Sparrow swallowed every gasp that spilled from the other's lips. As Reaver swiftly untied the knots in his nightshirt, Sparrow felt himself get numb from the cold moving over his exposed skin. He nudged their lips apart to inhale. He was shivering like a fever had taken over and he opened his eyes to see piercing grey ones stare at him almost curiously.

"I wondered how she fell in love," Reaver sighed as he untied the knot in Sparrow's hair, plunging hands into the dark locks. For a moment, Sparrow thought he was going to be tied when Reaver grasped his wrists, but the pirate pulled the hands onto his cold skin, encouraging him to touch as he continued placing kisses over Sparrow's throat. Spurts of fire shot straight down his back at the teasing pecks on his skin. This was madness. Rough hands pushed off the shirt he wore and pressed him against the table. Faintly, Sparrow felt the bites on his chest as the sinful mouth travelled lower, down his navel to his abdomen. Heat raked his flesh that was just turning numb from continuous coldness. Long fingers tugged at his pants now. Sparrow lifted his hips and Reaver pulled the pants off him in one swift motion. There was open admiration in his eyes as Reaver stared at him. He parted his lips as though to speak but he kissed Sparrow instead, stealing his breath and consuming with so much passion. Twice, teeth grazed his lower lip but did not break the skin.

"She really loved him. Impossible as it seemed, it happened." Something changed in the air then. Something dark. Sparrow felt the tug of unease somewhere in his navel. There was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that warned him that he was slowly walking into a trap. The same sinful kisses travelled up his throat. "You do know about it, I presume." Sparrow averted his eyes to the resurrection machine, trying to avoid the pirate's gaze. Reaver forced Sparrow to face him, rubbing his thumb over Sparrow's lips. The touch chilled the swollen flesh. "It turns out the cretin gave her a love potion," Reaver murmured on his lips.

"Reava…"

"Was it in the machine when you resurrected me?"

"Rea-" Sparrow started only to be cut off with a bruising kiss that was more like the pirate than the gentle kisses they just shared. The grip on his chin tightened as the pirate repeated the question. Sparrow fell silent at the way Reaver was staring at him.

"I see now where I have failed to break you, love."


	16. Chapter 16

**The Breaking  
Chapter 16**

There was a bubble of untargeted energy around the pirate as he hauled Sparrow off the messy wooden table and shoved him onto the machine. The flicker of an icy imprint stung Sparrow as he lay winded on the platform, feeling the pirate crawling up his body. The collar that Reaver had taken from him the day before was back around his neck within moments.

"Did I not bind you to me, love?" was whispered harshly against his lips before hands encircled his neck, not squeezing yet, just holding him down. The cold touch stole his breath. "Did I not make you crave me? Long for me? Want me?" Sparrow's heartbeats jumped. A bite on his lips made Sparrow inhale sharply, the grip on his neck suddenly tightening. Reaver pressed him into the machine, the metal hinges digging into the side of Sparrow's torso making him give a small cry at the pain. Yet, past the unflinching grip, Reaver's gaze was soft, like the way he would look at Sparrow sometimes when they were alone. Sparrow tried to shift the grip around his neck but couldn't because Reaver squeezed his throat as soon as their fingers touched. He cupped the pirate's chin and pulled him close instead, trying to plant a kiss to distract him away from taking anymore of his breath. There was a tremor in his fingers that he could not tell was from the coldness or from intimidation. "Breathe for me?"

"Aye…" Sparrow gasped as though he was weak, but it was only because a hot mouth closed over the side of his throat. He could feel the burning swipes of the silver tongue over his pulse, the vibrations of a satisfied growl rippling over his skin. The grip around Sparrow's neck slipped as his hand was pulled away from its touch and pinned somewhere above his head. It seemed that the permission to touch had now been wrenched from him once again. Reaver pushed their lips together, rubbing his body against Sparrow's, causing a violent shiver to course through his frame.

Sparrow wanted this so much for so long that it hurt.

"I miss that voice more than I should," was mumbled into his neck, followed by heat-filled kisses down his chest. Sparrow curled his leg over Reaver, pulling him close even though the pirate was cold to the touch. Being draped over like this was akin to taking a dip in the iced waters at Knothole, the frost biting and gnawing through his skin, causing shivers to rack through his frame. The mix of temperatures frazzled his nerves and drove his body into a pulsing desire that frustrated him with its pushing and pulling. "You haven't been faithful to me, Sparrow. Do you not love me anymore?" Sparrow stayed silent as the velvet wetness of a tongue licked a trail over his ribs. "Do you?" Reaver demanded this time, puncturing the flesh on his stomach with a bite.

"Aye…" Sparrow answered in the same breathy moan, arching his back at the pain shooting up his body. He had forgotten that this man could bring forth his insanity, making him equate that pain with pleasure, making him want more of that sinful combination. No. That was a lie. This side of Reaver always appeared to him in his own dreams. Burying his face in the crook of Sparrow's neck, Reaver murmured several things Sparrow could not hear, while scraping patterns onto his thighs with his nails. It sounded like…-

The exhalations ghosted over his throat; it almost seemed like grumbling yet, Sparrow could feel hesitant breathing, as though Reaver was sobbing into his skin. Sparrow shifted underneath the familiar weight of the pirate, creating a bit of heat where their chests slid against each other.

"Well, then. Explain to me how…why… you…" the pirate's voice trailed off, ending in a hissed curse. "What happened to your cunning?" he asked. The head lifted and the piercing grey eyes that looked strangely weary now bore into his. "Did I take that from you?" Sparrow noted the uncommon hesitance in the way Reaver slid his palms back around his neck in jerky motions, releasing the hold around Sparrow's wrists. The hands slid back to his chest. He sighed.

"Reava…"

"You know that I cannot love you, Sparrow."

The words ripped through his heart; it hurt even though Sparrow knew it from the start, from the first touches and the first lies. He smiled sadly at the man above him as he ran fingers through the soft hair; relishing at least this touch he had been allowed.

"Aye…" Sparrow whispered onto the other's lips as he pulled Reaver close. "Ne'er 'spected ye to," he said, his voice husky and rough, revealing the intense longing he felt.

"I could." Gentle kisses warmed his lips now. "I have been through worse than simply a love potion, Sparrow," Reaver said. Had their roles been reversed, Sparrow would be under that very inducement without question. But, Sparrow was not Reaver. No matter how much he wished for the same devotion to come his way, he could not bear to put Reaver under all that induced feeling. And what, then? Now that Reaver was undead, he would have to live in that permanent state of unreal love, even when Sparrow was gone. That was…cruel.

"I canna do that to ye…" Sparrow said, his now freed hands sliding up the other's body to pull Reaver close. He could not do that to Reaver. And he could not do it to himself. "I love ye..." he confessed. It stunned him how easily the confession slipped past his lips. Never had he said that aloud to the pirate, or to himself, rather. "Ye broke me well."

The grey gaze travelled over him and Reaver's face shifted into an expression that Sparrow had never imagined would appear on the pirate. It tore at him that he, Sparrow, had caused that look when he was the victim of that same misfortune. It was the face of a broken man. Sparrow knew because he had seen that face many times when he stared into a mirror. All Sparrow did was… obey Reaver. As he always had.

"When you brought me back, I longed for you. I thought…" Reaver sighed. "Well, I..." Reaver faltered. A deep laugh tickled Sparrow's ear as Reaver nuzzled him. "I expected to be in love when I awoke. And now…" He lifted himself to stare down at Sparrow, his lips parting to say something, but he closed them into a smirk. Skilful fingers untied the collar around his neck in a very uncharacteristic motion. "My, my..." Reaver chuckled. "Death brings out the worst in me."

They stayed wrapped around each other on the machine, breathing quietly as their bodies calmed to the same temperature, till the cold stopped stinging Sparrow when Reaver resumed coaxing him with caresses, till the burning within him escaped the confines of his body to wash them both with a kind of fire.

It felt like the last time they would be together.

And this time, it was most probably right.

They enjoyed each other slowly. Sparrow memorised and rememorized every touch, taste, cry, stain marring his flesh. He imprinted the feel of Reaver buried within him, the absolute fullness; both physical and internal, the swell of his heart as the satisfied groans reached his ears. Their bodies were never apart, hands wound around each other like they would never let go. He looked down at the rise and fall of a chest glistening with sweat and a mouth frozen in a silent scream when the last few thrusts milked his 'only' lover. Sparrow spilled over his navel, shuddering with Reaver's name on his lips. As they lazed in post-coital haze, Sparrow reached for the collar that lay beside them. He fingered the leather, feeling comfort at the familiar sensation. Reaver laced that collar around his own fingers, lips capturing Sparrow's in a most passionate kiss. It almost felt like they were both equally in love with each other.

He thought Reaver would return that leather collar to him. He thought Reaver would tigten that collar around his neck again. Sparrow watched horrified as Reaver flung it into the blaze roaring at the fireplace. And Sparrow watched it curl into ash, his body clenching at the sight. He realised then, that Reaver wanted to break their bonds. That finally, after all that breaking...

…this was the throwing away.

Alex came to collect Reaver at noon.

And Sparrow finally let him go.


	17. Chapter 17

_Note: Here we are at the ending. I apologise for delays. I also apologise because I can't seem to get the story right in so many parts. Either way, I hope you have enjoyed reading this somewhat. And I hope the ending does not disappoint you. THANK YOU for your support, for the many reviews, favs, for reading this lil fic. Till next time. Onwards, loves. _

* * *

**The Breaking  
Epilogue**

There was a faint smell of something exotic wafting through his nose when he inhaled, the first breath hurt as his whole body was forced awake. It felt like his mind was racing, showing him events of his life as his body moved out of its own accord, pushing up into a sitting position. His hands seemed to be reaching out for nothing, the nerves sparking with energy as his fingers flexed.

It was cold.

Unbearably cold. Colder than he had ever felt. Shivers racked through his frame, his skin struggling to calm to room temperature but was not fast enough. Sparrow coughed. The exotic smell had become stronger, its thickness staining the back of his throat. His loud breaths echoed in his ears now, like his heartbeats did; something was wrong. Voices came at him; he could not tell who was speaking or what was being said. The words were garbled when they reached his ears. But when a hand touched his cheek, Sparrow jerked away from it, landing on the floor in a painful mess. He scrabbled on the tiles, crawling away from whoever it was, crawling towards a source of warmth that stroked his skin. The haziness in his vision made him uneasy. The voices still came at him. Sparrow's heart increased its pace as his sight slowly regained its focus. His whole being finally felt like it was properly complete, like his soul finally had sewn itself back into his body when he opened his eyes now and saw his bare skin staring back at him. It was white. Milky, deathly, white skin shone in the light from the fire crackling behind him.

"You don't look a day older, Hero," a familiar voice said to him. Sparrow stilled. His eyes shot to the man standing in front of him. A familiar smirk slowly graced the handsome face as the gaze travelled up his skin and a kind of heat washed over him. The shiver that ran up his spine was one of insecurity. As soon as the man took a step towards Sparrow, he jumped. He pulled himself up and shuffled away till he hit the edge of a table. As the man took another step, Sparrow's hand closed around a fluted glass on the table. He grabbed it and thrust it forward, aiming it straight at the man.

"Come now, love. I thought we were past this."

That was it. They were past this.

A long time ago.

"Sparrow." At the sound of his name, Sparrow's grip tightened around the glass. The glass broke in his hand. Sharp pieces sank into his flesh and Sparrow hissed at the pain, the remaining shards of glass dropping to the floor as rivulets of blood trailed down his arm. In that pause, strong hands grabbed him and pushed him onto the table, pinning him down. He struggled with the weight on top of him, faltering because he realised how very weak he was. Sparrow felt drained. Looking up at the face above him, Sparrow choked on a breath. He had never thought he would see that face again, that face trained in the expression that tore him to pieces. "Sparrow…" was whispered into his ear and Sparrow shuddered at the warmth he felt there. Palms gently cupped his cheeks, thumbs tracing his lips before parting them. "Have you forgotten me already?"

No. Sparrow remembered this man. He remembered the caresses, the warm skin, and the grey gaze that watched him with something like love but was not.

The only thing was; Sparrow remembered dying as well.

"Why…?" Sparrow asked, his voice a mere whisper. He was strangely exhausted, as though he had not just woken up from very deep slumber. Through narrowed eyes, Sparrow took in the room he was in. He caught sight of resurrection machine; its metal casing had rust on it.

"Make your children stop calling me 'Uncle Reaver'," was the unexpected reply. A small smile tugged at his lips. He had not been dead for too long, then.

"Reava-" his question was cut off by a deep kiss.

"I did not give you the love potion." That confession stunned Sparrow, because he had expected the opposite. Sparrow gasped as he was lifted off the table and held close to a firm chest. He felt himself be carried. "You see, love. You can cope with death. But I cannot." They climbed up a flight of stairs. "Fortunately, I have forever to figure that out. With you, of course." Sparrow turned to face him. "That is all I can promise you, really," Reaver added. It was a huge promise; one that Sparrow was not sure Reaver could keep. Frankly, he did not even want to take that chance. It was not even a promise was it? Sparrow was… undead. He wanted to go back to permanent slumber. Sparrow wanted his own death to be absolute, just like his sister's. But, now… he was permanently undead. Sparrow wriggled in the arms that held him in place but he was already weakening. He sighed.

What could he do, anyway?

Reaver was right. They had forever. And Reaver, had forever to make good of this promise, at least. With him.

A faint sigh left his lips as he was laid onto soft sheets that felt very much like silk. It was very quiet in this building, wherever he was. Sparrow could pick out very faraway sounds, like birds and crickets outside. Hands encircled his waist and they both lay on the sheets, pressed against each other like the way they used to. It was… warmer than death. He saw their entwined bodies reflected in the mirror beside a huge dresser. Their equally pale complexions seemed to glow in the light. Taking in all these sensations, Sparrow strangely felt content, at peace with the world.

"I missed you, love." A kiss descended upon his lips. "For decades, perhaps. But time is irrelevant, now." Another kiss. "Death, too."

"Aye, love." There was blood on his hands but the wound on his palm had healed. Slowly, Sparrow laced his fingers around Reaver's, staining his hand with red as well. "Aye."

He closed his eyes. Forever was a very long time to try to save someone.

**End**


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